


Drunk and Adorable

by Arisprite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Everyone's gotta write one of these at some point, First Kiss, M/M, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Post-Banquet, Right?, Victor POV, Victor musing, Yuri P. is disgusted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki no longer looked like the suave man who'd literally swept Victor off his feet, but like a toddler who was past his bedtime. Either way, Victor thought he was magnificent, and he had the sinking feeling that if he let him out of his sight, this would never happen again.Victor helps Yuuri up to his room. Yuuri's coach, and fate, intercept.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this half finished since just after episode 10. I figured I should finish it at some point, along with the handful of other things that are half done on my hard drive whoops...

The drunken revels were abruptly broken up by hotel staff, and stuffy skating officials. Frankly, it had taken much longer to stop it than Victor would have expected, not that he was complaining. His face hurt from smiling, his heart was racing and his blood was still singing with how much _fun_ he’d been having. That Japanese skater… well, he certainly knew how to start a party.   
Victor looked around for him, as he’d lost him in the press of people stepping in to stop their fun. 

Yuuri Katsuki had impressed him, and surprised him, and Victor could still feel his hands pressing hot at his waist, and along the side of his neck, and that little touch along the side of his thigh when he’d dipped him. They’d danced, and laughed, and it all made something bubble inside him, like the excitement he used to feel landing a jump correctly - a swirling, stomach dropping joy. 

He didn’t think he’d ever felt like that not on the ice. And it had been a long while since he’d felt _on_ the ice too.

Suddenly, out of the crowd, Yuuri appeared again, a little more dressed than last time, but clearly now past any sort of limits - no coordination, red faced and bleary. He beamed at Victor upon seeing him again, and Victor felt a grin rise up unbidden, so unlike his usual public smile. 

“Victoor!” he crowed, and threw his arms around Victor’s shoulders, startling him with sudden warmth. Yuuri wasn’t holding still, wiggling, and _good heavens_ grinding against his legs, and Victor felt his face get hot. All the while, Yuri was babbling about a hot springs, and inviting him to come visit his family, and coach him… 

Coach him? 

Victor wasn’t a coach, he was a skater, so why did Yuuri think he could ask him that? And why did such a large part of him leap upwards to say yes. Looking up at him with wide, beseeching brown eyes, Yuri was a mess… and yet, Victor was interested. By _god_ he was interested, in more ways than one. 

Suddenly, a large hand slammed down on Victor’s shoulder, tearing him away from Yuri, and spinning him to be eye to eye with Yakov. Yura was a pace away wincing, because apparently Yakov was not impressed with either of their displays. 

“Vitya! What is the meaning of this?! Are you a complete idiot, there are sponsors here! You should have been keeping an eye on Yura…” 

Victor was being steered away, but here he stalled, stopping the forward momentum. 

“Yakov, it’s fine. We were all just having a little fun. And Yura’s fine,” he said. He didn’t think Yura had drunk anything beside water all night. “Yura, you didn’t drink anything, right?” He eyed the boy, who was red faced, but clear eyed, and Yuri shook his head firmly. 

“I wouldn’t drink if it makes people do all that!” he spat, and Yakov turned around. 

“You’re not drunk? Either of you?” Yakov said, and Victor shook his head, smiling. 

“Just having a some fun, weren’t we, Yura?” he repeated. 

Yuri ‘tched. “Some fun!” But there was a smile playing around his lips, and Victor had the urge to ruffle his hair. Not wanting to get his hand bitten, he beamed at Yakov until he rolled his eyes, grumbling like a bear. 

“Well, fine then. But it’s still time to leave, we’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and then we’re getting back to training.” 

Both Yuri and Victor agreed somewhat less cheerfully, and then they were left alone, as Yakov headed up to the hotel room. Victor was considering turning around to find that other Yuuri again, to do what, he wasn’t sure? He wanted to say goodbye at least, he decided, maybe trade some contact information, but then he noticed that Yura was sneering at him. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“Mm?” 

Yura was grumpy as a rule, and late at night was no exception. “That asshole was all over you! And then he asked you to be his coach, peh! Like that will ever happen!” 

Victor hums, and then Yuri looked closer at him, seeing something in his face. “What? No way, don’t tell me you’re actually considering it?!”

“I haven’t said anything, Yura,” Victor sniffed, a finger resting on his lips. 

“Yeah, but you haven’t denied it either. What, do you like him or something?” 

“Or something... His dancing was rather impressive.” 

“I was dancing too,” Yuri pouted, and Victor came out of his thoughts, finally giving into the temptation to rub Yuri’s hair. 

“You should put that kind of emotion into your skating!” 

Yuri snarled, and tossed Victor’s hand off his head. 

“You should speak for yourself!” It was just Yuri’s usual blustering, but Victor still felt a zing of hurt that he covered quickly. For it was a fact. The unspoken truth that Victor’s skating had been empty of the kind of emotion that it used to have. The reporters didn’t talk about it, but fan forums did. It was part of what was driving the talk of retirement. Victor’s skating was still flawless, but perfunctory. He didn’t feel anything real out there anymore. 

But tonight, dancing with Yuuri Katsuki, Victor had _felt_. Delight, joy, _surprise_. He felt like he’d been cracked open, and that passion for something (someone) had ripped through his cool grey life. Victor no longer felt it about skating, it was time he admit that… but perhaps he could feel it with this amazing man. 

“Perhaps you’re right…” Victor murmured, and no longer saw Yuri’s alarmed gaze. He was looking through the crowd now. Chris has vanished, and most of the drunker spectators had as well (he thought he remembered a particular man Victor didn’t know smiling invitingly at Chris after the pole had been forced down, so he wasn’t surprised). Everyone left were mostly saying goodnight, as it was quite late. And Yuuri Katsuki was still in the middle of the floor. People were laughing, and slapping his back, but it didn’t look like there was anyone who was actually talking with him now that the show was over. And he no longer looked vibrant or sensual but was swaying dazedly, a slurry smile on his face, and with half closed eyes. He needed a bed and glass of water more than anything. Where was his coach? Or someone to take care of him, at least? 

Victor started moving without a thought, ignoring Yura’s sharp call from behind him. He’d just help him to his hotel room, since no one else was there. 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Victor said as he approached. “Do you want some help to your room?” 

“Victor, seriously? He can find his way upstairs, let’s go!” Yuri snapped, following behind his elbow. Yuuri, the drunk one, gasped, finally recognizing Victor it seemed. 

“Victor! ’S you!” he marveled, and Victor smiled fondly. 

“Yup, still me!” he said brightly, and Yuuri looked like he could cry from joy. Yuri looked like he smelled something disgusting. 

“Ugh, I’m going to puke.” 

Yuuri swayed hard, and Victor grabbed his arm, and put it over his shoulders. 

“I’m going to help him, Yura. I’ll meet you back in the room.” 

Yura ‘tched, with narrowed eyes. “Fine. Take care of your little crush,” he hissed, turning on his heel. Victor gave a merry little wave, and then turned his attentions to the Yuuri in front of him. 

“You ready to go upstairs?” Victor asked, and Yuuri frowned at him, blinking slowly. 

“Wha’s upstairs?” he asked, looking adorable. The man who’d danced with him had been replaced by this cute creature. It surely wasn’t fair! Victor’s heart squeezed as Yuuri squinted at him. Victor began moving them towards the elevators. 

“Your bed. A hopefully a glass of water, and painkillers,” Victor chuckled. Yuuri processed that slowly, before his eyes lit up with another idea. The sparkle in those brown irises was wonderful. 

“Victor, Victor, you should sleep over!” he said, stumbling as he walked, and turning sideways to press completely against Victor, slipping an arm under his suit jacket. Victor wasn’t sure whether the childlike glee meant that this was an innocent request, or the wandering hands meant the more adult version of a sleepover… either way, Victor wanted to. He was taken aback by the strength of his desire to just stay close to this man. Who was he, that his words an actions had completely undone Victor’s careful masks, and even now was taking him by surprise again and again? Victor wanted to know him.

But, Victor knew that Yuuri was very drunk, and Victor would never take advantage of anyone in that state. A sleep over would have to wait. Yakov was expecting him anyway, even though Victor was sure he’d get away with it if he wanted to. But no, bad idea. He’d leave his number, and Yuuri and he could talk tomorrow, about the coaching, about anything Yuuri liked. 

They entered the elevator, and Yuuri hadn’t noticed that Victor didn’t answer him. He was humming the music they’d danced to, rolling back and forth on his feet, nearly tipping himself over. Victor considered the buttons panel. 

“Yuuri, do you know what floor you’re on?” 

Yuuri hummed, and leaned on Victor heavily to look. “Ummmm, four?”

Victor pressed the fourth floor, and the elevator began to rise with a smooth movement. It was enough to catch Yuuri off balance, and he fell forward even more. Victor caught him, and then he realized a split second after Yuuri did how close their faces were. He knows it was after Yuuri realized, because the kiss took him by surprise. 

Yuuri tasted mostly like champagne, but he was warm and soft, and Victor… really should put a stop to this. He pulled away slowly, and Yuuri looked at him and giggled. 

“Your face is nice,” he said, and Victor couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“Thank you. I think your’s is too.” 

Yuuri nodded, blinking heavier. He was getting tired. For good reason, Victor supposed. Leaving off the exhaustion of the Grand Prix Finals series, he’d been dancing solid for an hour at least, dead drunk, with no sign of flagging. Now, he looked like a toddler up past his bedtime, and it shouldn’t be so cute, but Victor felt his already mushy heart melt a little more. 

They reached the fourth floor, and Yuuri got off the elevator on his own, and wandered down the hall, presumably some muscle memory telling him where his room was. Victor followed, and caught up just as Yuuri tripped on nothing, putting a hand around his waist. 

“Woah, are you alright?” Victor asked, and Yuuri, starry eyed, nodded. “Do you remember your room number?” 

Yuuri pointed. “That’s the one, I think.” 

Victor noted 405, in case he had time in the morning to check in on him. 

“Okay, do you have a key card?” 

Yuuri started, and patted his waist, and then dug a hand into his pockets. Then he shook his head. 

“Oh,” Victor frowned. He could just bring Yuuri down to the lobby, and get a new card. He also was sorely tempted to say ‘oh well,’ and bring Yuuri to his own room, a floor up. He had the place to himself, and Yuuri could take the other bed. And then, in the morning, he could talk to sober Yuuri, and see how serious his request - and the dancing and kiss - truly were. He had a strange feeling that if he let the man out of his sight, then he’d lose him forever… 

But then, Yuuri’s face lit up, and god it was like the sun. “Oh! I’m sharing with Celestino!” And without a pause, Yuuri dragged Victor, still tangled up with holding Yuuri upright, over to the door and knocked loudly. 

Before Victor could detach himself from Yuuri’s grasp, there was a grumbling on the other side of the door, and then Yuuri’s coach opened it. Victor knew Celestino from a distance - he’d coached a few Grand Prix Finalists over the years. The man’s hair was down from its typical ponytail, and was a glorious tangled main. He squinted at the door, like he had a headache, before his eyes widened, twice in a double take.

“Yuuri! And- Victor Nikiforov?” he said, a heavy Italian accent in his English, and shock coloring his tone. Victor felt himself blush. Victor knew what it appeared like, the way that Yuuri was clinging to him. And had Yuuri been a little more sober, perhaps it might have been, given the kiss in the elevator (that kiss would likely haunt him until he was able to do it again. And he would do it again, he was sure of it). But, the shock and then protectiveness in Celestino’s eyes still made Victor rush to correct any wrong impressions. 

“Hi!” Victor sang, in his best charming voice. “Yuuri here has had a bit too much to drink, and,” here Victor’s voice dropped, and he allowed judgement to seep into his tone. “Since he had no one down there to watch out for him, I’m helping him to his room to sleep.” 

Celestino frowned at him. “I had a headache, so I told him he could come back with me, but he wanted to stay.” 

Victor was sure that Yuuri had already been drinking at that point, as he remembered the miserable man who’d arrived. Surely he would have leapt at the chance to leave. Victor was so so glad that he hadn’t. 

Yuuri took that moment to interject. 

“Caio Caio, we _danced_ , and it was so much fun! Look, it’s Victor Nikiforov, and he danced with me!” he said, delighted. Victor had to smile. 

“It was fun, Yuuri. We shall have to do it again, sometime.” 

Yuuri nodded hard, and then got dizzy and fell against Victor’s chest. “Woah, I think I drank too much…” 

Victor let himself hold Yuuri for a moment, before Celestino woke from his surprise and came forward to bustle Yuuri into the room. Victor’s arms immediately felt the chill of emptiness. 

“Thank you for bringing him back, Victor. I’ve got it from here,” Celestino said, nudging the door shut. Victor, in a sudden panic, stepped forward and stopped the door. 

“Wait, can you- Yuuri, I…” but Yuuri was already moving away from the door, tottering towards the bed. Victor turned back to Celestino. “Are you leaving early tomorrow? Can you tell Yuuri to meet me before you go?” 

Celestino gave him a look of such confusion that Victor wondered if he’d slipped into Russian. 

“We’re leaving far too early for the hangover he’s going to have. But why would you want to meet him?” 

“I just- I want to talk to him. Can I give you my number for him, then?” Victor tried to hide his desperation, but that feeling that he _had_ to connect with Yuuri, had to be able to contact him, was pushing words from his lips. 

Celestino looked exhausted, and long suffering. “I suppose.”

He waited while Victor scribbled his number and name down on a receipt he had in his pocket, and then took the slip of paper with a bemused look. 

Victor tried to lean around him for one more glimpse of Yuuri, but the wall was angled wrong. 

“Okay, well, tell him good night.” 

Celestino was frowning, but nodded. “Night.” 

And Victor was left on the step of the hotel room, an ache in his chest, but a warm feeling still on his lips. Victor allowed that to fill his heart, and went off to find his room, humming a little. 

Inside the hotel room Celestino looked at the paper with Victor Nikiforov’s phone number, until an awful retching sound drew his attention. He rushed to help Yuuri get to the bathroom, and dropped the slip onto the TV stand. The rush of his movement blew it down between the wall and the table, and the headache and exhaustion the rest of the night made all thoughts of Victor Nikiforov slip from Celestino’s mind.


End file.
